Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [17]
“Most nonprofits could take a lesson from you.”
“Glad you see it that way.”
She directed Brixton to the couch, then sat in a swivel office chair. “So,” she said, “you want to know about Louise Watkins.”
“That’s right.”
“What is it you want to know about her?”
Brixton grinned. “As much as you can remember.”
“That might not be much.”
“Anything will be helpful.”
“Mind if I ask why you’re interested in her?”
“Not at all. As I told you, I’m a PI now. Louise’s mother came to see me. Louise went to prison for stabbing a guy outside Augie’s. Remember that joint?”
“Sure I do. Down and dirty.”
“Her mother claims that Louise confessed to that stabbing in return for ten thousands bucks, claims her daughter didn’t stab anybody.”
“Just like a loving mother.”
“I believe her.”
“Cops aren’t usually that gullible.”
“I’m not gullible, Wanda. The detective who took the confession didn’t believe it either.”
“She got herself killed,” Wanda said matter-of-factly.
“Not long after she got out of prison. She did four years.”
“Gunned down as I remember.”
“That’s right, in broad daylight. She was alone on the street. The cops say it was a random drive-by shooting. I say she was a target.”
They were interrupted by two young women, one black, one white, who walked in without knocking. They eyed Brixton suspiciously.
“What’s up?” Wanda asked them.
“Betty’s making trouble again,” one said.
“Is she?” said Wanda. “You tell Miss Betty that she’d best shape up or she’ll be answerin’ to me. You got that?”
They laughed and left.
“A couple of your saves?” Brixton asked.
“Uh-huh. You can take them off the street all right, but it’s harder to take the street out of ’em.”
“I imagine.”
“You were saying about Louise getting gunned down. Let me tell you what I remember about Louise Watkins. Like I said on the phone, she was just a confused little puppy, didn’t have what it took to turn tricks. It’s a hard business, you know, takes a certain kind of woman to survive it. Probably best she was sent down. I don’t think she would have lasted long as a hooker, probably have gotten herself cut up or worse by some pervert.”
“Did you and she talk much?” he asked.
Wanda shook her head, which sent her red hat into motion. “Just once or twice. I remember once after she’d been busted. Might have been her first time only I can’t be sure. Anyways, she told me that she loved her momma and didn’t want to hurt her, only she already was hurtin’ her. She was drugged up that time. Damn drugs. She was pretty heavy into it, selling, too.”
“Louise Watkins was a drug dealer?”
“Minor league stuff, Mr. Brixton. She peddled pot, some coke, nothing big time. She used to hang around Augie’s, sell to some of the teenyboppers who hung out there, too. Mostly white, girls and guys whose mommies and daddies never believed their precious kids were using. I told Louise to knock it off, told her that they’d take her down hard if she got busted dealing junk.”
“Did she listen to you?”
“Probably not. I was just another whore handing out advice.”
“She should have listened to you.”
“Most don’t, but enough do to make it worthwhile.”
“Did Louise have friends?” he asked.
“I suppose. She wasn’t out on the street long enough to get close to other hookers, but she hung around with some people at Augie’s.” She snorted. “Friends? They were only friends as long as she had junk to sell. There are no friends in that world, Mr. Brixton.”
“Did you know her when she confessed to the stabbing and was sentenced? I mean, were you in Savannah at that time?”
“Sure I was.”
“What’d you hear on the street about it?”
“Not much. Shame she got nailed. Too bad it happened. The smart thinking was that she was turning a trick in the parking